


You Always Give Me Wings

by nerdylittledude



Series: Ugly Sweater !Verse [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 11:37:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdylittledude/pseuds/nerdylittledude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“It seems that whenever it gets very cold, you give me wings.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p><i>There’s something goddamn poetic about that, Dean thinks, and he’s never been one for poetry so he doesn’t reply verbally, just kisses Cas’ chapped and frozen lips. If Dean was one for poetry, he might have said something like, ‘You </i>always<i> give me wings, Cas.’</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	You Always Give Me Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit guys. It's been one year.
> 
> I've said this a million times, and I'll say it again - this series would have never happened without my amazing, dedicated readers. I never could have written a thick novel worth of words, could have never taken these characters on such an amazing journey. It's been a wonderful experience.
> 
> Thank you all for your support for so long.
> 
> Merry Christmas.
> 
> (ps. this is unbeta'd, so it's probably littered with mistakes. feel free to point them out! thank you)

 “Dean. Dean, wake up.”

Dean wakes to a tiny smile and a pair of bright blue eyes staring across the bed at him, practically exuding happiness. The morning is as of yet nothing but a hazy gray shadow, barely graced by the sun at this early hour. Cas is sleepy-eyed and his hair is sticking up at odd ends, their thick covers pulled up to his chin. When he sees that Dean is awake, his tiny ghost of a smile splits into a grin. He laces their legs together and snugs in a little closer, eyes bright.

“There better be a good reason you have me up before the friggin sun is awake,” Dean grumbles, not unkindly. Cas is like a little orb of light this morning and, groggy though Dean is, he can’t help but absorb the warmth and positivity like it’s the sun’s own rays. There’s a reason Dean calls Cas his sunshine, and moments like this are it. He _would_ like to know why his little sunbeam has chosen to shine at – Dean glances at their bedside clock and groans – 5:30 in the morning.

“There are 12 days until Christmas,” Cas whispers excitedly, “and I believe it’s snowing. That is _excellent_ news, Dean! We may very well have a white Christmas.”

Dean yawns loudly and stretches out his back until it cracks.

“That’s great, Cas – I’m happy for you, dude, I am, but why did you have to tell me _now_?”

Cas tilts his head just the slightest bit against his pillow, as though this hadn’t occurred to him before.

“I was excited,” he says sheepish moment, a sentiment cute enough to warrant Dean momentarily forgetting to be annoyed because he’s got to kiss the embarrassment off Cas’ face. The conversation cannot proceed until Cas is good and kissed – and kissed and kissed – and only when Cas’ earlier silly smile because of the snow comes back does Dean deem the job done. Dean’s surprised when Cas retaliates by _tickling_ ; he’s never done it before and Dean didn’t know the fallen angel even knew how. Dean’s one and only attempt at tickling Cas had been quite awkward, with Cas asking Dean blankly what he was doing and Dean finding out the uncomfortable way that Cas is not ticklish.

Dean _is_ , though, and Cas exploits this in every way possible, climbing on top of him and pinning him down and tickling Dean ‘til he’s squirming and crying with laughter. Cas finally relents to Dean’s borderline hysterical cries of “no more, no more!” and collapses into Dean’s arms, laying against his chest. Their laughter fades out to a warm and peaceful quiet, with Cas’ ear pressed to Dean’s heart and Dean’s fingers trailing through Cas’ hair.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean says thoughtfully after a while of reveling in this fantastic quiet. He’s been staring at the window, where the slowly rising sun has brought light to what is clearly a noteworthy amount of falling snow.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas asks quietly, punctuating the sentence with a kiss to the fabric of Dean’s shirt.

“Let’s go play in the snow,” Dean says, surprising himself by the grin that the sentence brings to his own lips and how excited he feels once he asks.

“Dean – it’s not even 6am. We haven’t eaten; you haven’t had your coffee. Surely you don’t–”

“Sure do. Let’s just do it, man. If I wait, I’ll start thinking about the cold slushy misery that is _snow_ and change my mind. Let’s go now while I still think it’ll be fun.”

Cas wastes no further time and sits up excitedly, hopping out of bed and heading for their shared chest of drawers. They don’t have any snow-clothes and will probably get drenched in the jeans and sweaters Cas is pulling out for them, but Dean doesn’t mind. He hasn’t had a proper snowball fight since he was a kid, and somehow the prospect of one is more enticing than the inevitable waterlog is otherwise.

The ugly sweater Cas pulls out for today is tame in comparison to many of his others. It’s black with white and blue snowflakes littered all over it, and all the hems are lined in the same blue as the snowflakes. All the blue makes Cas’ eyes pop and it fits in a way that flatters Cas more than the majority of the rest, and Dean’s pleased with what he sees.

Not that he isn’t always.

Once Cas is half dressed and is tugging on his jeans, Dean stops staring and scrambles out of bed, suddenly eager enough to get dressed as quickly as possible. Cas laughs at his enthusiasm and tugs his pants on that much quicker. They grab hats and scarves and gloves and coats from the closet and pull them on haphazard before they both burst through the front door, laughing at the ridiculousness of their sudden inexplicable race. As soon as they’re outside, though, they both freeze in place.

It’s beautiful. Overnight, a blanket of white has gently settled over the world, creating a scene straight from a Hallmark card. There isn’t a single footprint in sight; it’s so early that even the streets are untouched. There is not so much snow as to make the roads undrivable – Dean’s sure that once the sun has risen fully and the snowplows have come through, his baby will be safe to drive them to the holiday store as planned – but in this moment it seems all-encompassing. It’s the kind of snow that seems almost a sin to trample… yet in the same right practically _begs_ to be kicked up and stampeded over. Dean grabs Cas’ gloved hand and squeezes it tight before running out into their yard, dragging Cas along.

They spin around in a circle for a second, Dean kicking up tiny waves of snow in the process, looking for all the world like the two lovesick fools they are. Cas is the first to break hold and lean down to scoop up some snow and form a rather sad semblance of a snowball. He pelts it at Dean, who wasn’t paying attention but instantly accepts the declaration of war. They run around the yard making snowballs and ducking as the other throws snowballs at them, alternately shouting and shushing each other because it’s still too early to be disrupting their neighbors.

There’s not quite enough snow for a proper snowman, though they try. They end up with a sad looking creature that looks more like a blob than anything else, but it doesn’t stop them from decorating the three-foot nonentity with button eyes, a carrot nose, a mouth of Oreos and a hat, just because. At the end of their endeavors, they lay in the snow and stare at the pale gray sky, breathing in the air that smells and tastes like winter.

Dean starts flailing his limbs wildly in the snow, startling Cas into sitting up and looking at him curiously, head tilted and brow furrowed in confusion. Dean laughs.

“I’m making a snow angel,” Dean says merrily, wiggling away. Cas frowns, looking even more confused.

“Angels look nothing like that, Dean,” Cas says. “Our wingspans are at least four times that when chained to a human vessel, and easily the height of your Chrysler building in our –”

“Hey, hotshot, I get that you’re the authority on all things holy and winged,” Dean says with a dramatic rolls of his eyes, grin unfading. “But the average human thinks angels are cute little tree-toppers with fluffy wings. So get down here and make a snow angel with me, angel.”

Cas huffs but concedes, laying on his back again and awkwardly imitating Dean’s limb flailing. Once Dean’s content that his own snow angel is good and solid, he shuffles to his feet and lends Cas a hand. They both examine their handiwork and Cas unexpectedly hooks an arm around Dean’s waist and tugs him close.

“This is the closest to having wings I’ve had in a while,” he comments offhand, tone lighthearted and pleased.

“Since last Christmas?” Dean asks, smiling as he kisses one of Cas’ rosy, frozen cheeks.

“Yes, I think so,” he says thoughtfully, nodding. “It seems that whenever it gets very cold, you give me wings.”

There’s something goddamn poetic about that, Dean thinks, and he’s never been one for poetry so he doesn’t reply verbally, just kisses Cas’ chapped and frozen lips. If Dean _was_ one for poetry, he might have said something like, ‘Y _ou always give me wings, Cas.’_

*

After some bangin’ hot chocolate, an awesome breakfast and an extremely warm and drawn-out bubble bath, Dean and Cas venture out into the cold for a second time, although this time they have a more clearly defined mission. The extent of the flat’s holiday decorations consists of, currently, only the decorations from last year. Cas has plans to go bigger and better this year, and Dean knows better than to protest. He’s pretty sure they’re going to have to rent a bigger storage locker for all their holiday stuff if Cas wants a cumulative decoration collection for _every_ holiday. He thinks it’s ridiculous enough that they need a storage locker for their holiday crap in the first place – but, again, he doesn’t get a say in these matters.

Dean has a love/hate relationship with the seasonal holiday store in the mall, considering it has come to be both a friend and the bane of his existence over the past year. Seeing it decked out with Christmas stuff, though, has Dean feeling nostalgic of Dean’s first Christmas with Cas and the countless hours spent in the dumb store’s cheery depths. All the store workers are in Santa outfits this year, which Dean finds hilarious and Cas finds confusing.

Cas is thorough in his search of every aisle, wrinkling his nose at some things and practically snatching others off the shelves. Dean trails behind him with a bright red and green shopping cart, trying hard not to roll his eyes every time Cas asks his opinion on things. Ultimately, Cas always ignores Dean’s input and goes with his own convictions, so Dean has no idea why Cas bothers asking him whether the _Merry Gingerbread_ candle smells better than the _Fireside Cinnamon_ and other useless things like that. Cas always makes the right decision and their home always looks terrific; there’s no point pretending Dean has any hand in it. It’s all Cas.

One thing Cas is adamant on is upping the caliber of their outdoor decorations. He has declared a definitive desire to be ‘the most impressive display on the block’ – meaning Dean’s going to be spending a hell of a lot of time outside in the cold hanging Christmas lights. He tried to point out that their flat is tiny and they don’t have much yard space, but Cas had brushed him off as being needlessly pessimistic. Dean doesn’t mind much, though, particularly if Cas wants to get creative in _warming Dean up_ post-decorating.

They head home in the Impala with the back seat full of bag after bag of holiday decorations, the radio blasting Christmas tunes like this is some kind of standard family vehicle and not the manliest ride in existence. Cas practically _grins_ – and Cas doesn’t grin – when Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer starts to play, and Dean could care less what music his baby is playing, as long as it’s got that dopey look on Cas’ face. Christmas is all kinds of symbolic and important to both Cas and Dean, and it’s clear the significance of the holiday weighs heavy on Cas in a way that has him extra smiley and lighthearted. It’s contagious, and Dean finds himself equally cheery.

When Dean helps Cas unload all his decorations in the flat, he can’t help but laugh at how much mistletoe Cas has purchased. He holds onto the box in his hand and laughs until he’s tearing up at all the memories of last year, at the intense awkwardness of Cas’ first mistletoe experiences and how the dumb plant managed to inadvertently force them together. Cas watches him curiously, chuckling as well, and Dean rips open the box and pulls out a branch of mistletoe. He proceeds to chase Cas around the room with it (after an awkward moment of _“Cas, I’m chasing you, you’re supposed to run”_ ) until he finally tackles him onto the bed and holds mistletoe above their heads and kisses him, slow and soft and sweet.

“This is my favorite time of year,” Cas says happily once they’ve finally parted lips.

“Y’know what, Cas? Me too.”

*

Cas is stupidly persistent about getting all the lights done up in _one_ sitting, despite how the chill has long since settled into Dean’s bones and there is seriously _no_ downside to waiting another goddamn day to finish it. Dean’s lost track of how long they’ve been out there, both of them on ladders borrowed from neighbors, applying trimming of Christmas lights to every available edge of their house. The porch railings are lined in red lights, and their roof is decked out in the white, ornate dangling kind. They outline their one wide front window in a string of alternating red and white lights, and lace the same ones through the bushes. They outline their smallish square of yard in white lights and have a field day with the lawn ornaments. This year they feature those cliché lawn reindeer everyone always has, though Cas has carefully counted out the exact number on Santa’s sleigh, named them and arranged them according to personality. They’re all a little cramped because their lawn isn’t exactly white-picket sized just yet, but Cas manages to make it look nice. He spends an absurd amount of time moving Rudolph around, making sure he looks better than all the rest. His preoccupation with the fictional outcast is _adorable;_ Dean had all but forgotten it in the months since last Christmas.

They line the sidewalk leading up to their apartment with light-up candy canes, and because Cas is a girl, they tie a bow to every single one. Dean’s hugging himself for warmth and shivering periodically by the time Cas finally declares their flat acceptable, and nearly darts inside the minute Cas gives the clear. Cas grabs his hand, though, and leads him to the power outlets first. They turn on their lights and then stand out in the street and examine their handiwork. Dean whistles.

“This is beautiful, Cas,” he says, gaping, and it’s true. In the midst of Dean’s frustration with all the decorating and the distraction of the cold, Dean hadn’t really given much thought to the end product. It’s nothing short of a winter wonderland, and while it may not be the _best_ in town or even on their block, Dean thinks it’s perfect.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas replies, squeezing Dean’s hand, which is freezing even through the gloves. Dean notes that Cas’ hands seem just as cold.

“Can we go inside now?” Dean asks hopefully, and Cas chuckles and nods. They head back inside, arm-in-arm. There’s mistletoe hanging over the front door which has Dean laughing again, and Cas pulls him in by the lapels of his jacket and kisses him hard. They wrap their arms around each other and lean against the chilly exterior of the door and kiss until Cas turns his head to the side, covers his mouth and starts coughing. Dean groans.

“Damnit, Cas. Don’t go getting sick on me, man.”

“I am not sick, Dean,” Cas says with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t be overdramatic.”

*

Cas is sick. He wakes up the following morning reporting a pounding head and an overall ache to his body that, for once, is entirely unrelated to sex. What’s worse is that he seems to have developed a really shitty cough overnight and sounds like a dying smoker. Dean calls Cas out of work without Cas’ permission, and they _almost_ fight about it… but when Cas starts to get up he groans and holds his head, falling back against the pillows.

“Perhaps I could benefit from some rest,” he says hesitantly. Dean presses his palm to Cas’ forehead and frowns.

“You’re warm, dude. I’ll check your temperature – or, wait, do we even have a thermometer? I’ll pick one up on my way home from work. Are you okay to stay here by yourself today?”

Cas gives him his blankest stare.

“I’ll be fine, Dean.”

Dean chews his lip pensively as he buttons up his old-fashioned uniform and stares at Cas, who is swaddled up with blankets, still in bed.

“I’m stopping home on my lunch break,” Dean decides aloud, and Cas huffs loudly.

“I’m capable of taking care of myself,” he protests, but Dean just waves him off.

“Centuries old soldier, blah blah blah. Listen, Cas, angels don’t get sick so you don’t know how much it sucks. Let me take care of you, man.” Dean struggles with his bow tie and falls quiet as he tries to make it work. Cas usually does both of their bow ties because bow ties are _stupid_ and for all Dean’s history of disguises, he has almost zero experience with bow ties. Cas _tsks_ and beckons him over with a gesture of his hand, and Dean reluctantly obliges. From his nest of blankets and pillows, Dean ties Dean’s bow tie for him and smoothes down his collar. He glances at Dean’s lips, but hesitates.

“If I kiss you, you’ll get sick as well,” he comments glumly. He looks so entirely forlorn at the prospect of not kissing Dean that Dean decides right then and there that they’re throwing caution to the winds because there’s no way Cas is going to be _pouty_ on top of being sick. Dean kisses him and Cas smiles. Dean’s half expecting Cas to protest or something, but he’s delighted to find that Cas is giving a very rare show of selfishness. He kisses Dean eagerly and actually whines when Dean pulls away.

“I’ll be back in four hours,” Dean says. Cas still doesn’t look happy about it, but he doesn’t contribute any further dissent. By the time Dean has his coat, hat and gloves on, Cas has fallen asleep. Dean stands over the bed for a moment, watching him sleep wistfully. Cas’ hair is slightly wet from fever-induced sweat, and he looks small and vulnerable in sleep. Even without his angel mojo, Cas has always seemed to exude power to Dean; it’s odd to see him so weak… and unexpectedly endearing, too.

Every now and then schedule changes make it so Cas and Dean don’t work at the same time, and those are the days when the clock moves slowest. Dean actually enjoys his job when Cas is working too, and Dean can whizz by the kitchen on his skates and make faces at Cas as he passes. Their banter when he drops off and picks up orders make work feel less like work; without Cas around, the quality of his day rests solely on the sorts of patrons the diner picks up that day. On this particular day, there are barely any visitors at all, and Dean is bored and restless. Three hours into his shift, his manager tells him to add an extra paid hour to his break and go home early, saying, “we’d be screwed without our little kitchen superstar, so get home and make sure he’s okay.” She’s had a soft spot for the two of them since the day she hired them, so Dean’s not entirely surprised at this. He is incredibly grateful, though, and thanks her repeatedly on his way out.

Dean arrives at home armed with a thermometer and some take-out chicken soup from the diner and finds Cas exactly where he left him, huddled up in bed under the blankets. He rolls his eyes affectionately and puts his purchases down before stealing into bed beside Cas. Cas, to Dean’s surprise, is out like a light, mouth hanging open slightly in sleep. Dean sighs and cuddles up to his sleeping fallen angel, wrapping an arm around his waist and frowning at how Cas is burning like a furnace. He’s thinking about taking a nap, too, when Cas’ eyes flicker open.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, and promptly hides his face in his pillow and coughs and coughs, making Dean’s stomach twist with worry. Cas groans once the fit has subsided.

“Is there no way I can convince you to flee from my germs?” Cas grumbles unhappily into the pillow, and Dean just smiles and shakes his head.

“Sorry, Sunshine. I’d rather get sick from a cold than be sick from wanting to kiss you.”

Cas looks up at Dean blearily, a small smile on his face to match Dean’s.

“That was almost poetic, Dean,” he says, sounding awed. Dean huffs and looks away.

“I brought you soup,” Dean says, ignoring that, and Cas responds by burying his face in Dean’s neck.

“No thank you,” he mumbles into Dean’s skin.

“Have you even eaten today?” Dean persists, gently pushing Cas’ shoulder back so he can look at him. Cas doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I haven’t been hungry.”

“You need to eat something,” Dean says, his face a picture of disapproval. “And you need to be drinking fluids.”

Cas frowns.

“The only fluids I want right now are yours inside me, Dean,” he says, catching Dean off guard with his bluntness. Dean feels his mouth go dry when Cas bites his lip and looks at Dean earnestly. “Will you fuck me, please?”

Dean exhales sharply.

“Jesus, Christ,” he whispers, because goddamn if Cas’ imploring eyes and chewed lip isn’t the hottest thing ever. He tries to reel his thoughts back in, though, in favor of Cas’ health. “You’re sick, Cas. You need rest so you can feel better faster.”

Cas glares immediately, as though he was anticipating Dean’s response.

“Nothing would make me feel better than you thrusting inside me and panting my name,” Cas says, deadpan, and there he goes again with his completely artless dirty talk, just talking like he always talks, casual but intense because he means every word he says. There’s nothing affected about it; Cas couldn’t do contrived if he wanted to.

“Well, shit,” Dean says, running a hand through his own hair. Cas slips a leg between Dean’s and lines their hips up, reinforcing just how serious Cas is because Dean can clearly feel the hard bulge of a growing erection straining at Cas’ boxers. A shudder shoots down Dean’s spine and he’s silent and motionless for a moment, just breathing hotly. Cas grinds against Dean just the slightest bit, just to get his attention, and Dean’s resolve crumbles.  

He kisses Cas, less roughly than he often does because Cas is still burning beneath his fingers, uncharacteristically weak. Cas is far more urgent then he is, slipping in tongue at the first opportunity, rolling his hips and making Dean gasp. One of Cas’ hands finds the back of Dean’s neck and the other untucks the shirt of Dean’s work uniform before creeping up Dean’s back and dragging nails across his skin. Dean’s mouth falls open and all he can do is pant hotly in Cas’ mouth, shivering against the press of his body against his boyfriend’s.

They lose layers in a frenzy of prying fingers, shucking clothes and belts and shoes quickly enough. Most of the layers belong to Dean; Cas was clad only in pair of pajama pants and one of Dean’s t-shirts, suspiciously commando, like he’s planned this. Dean’s pretty sure the guy went to bed wearing boxers. The friction of skin-to-skin, legs entwined and grinding hard like desperate teenagers, is that much more intense than it is with fabric between them. Dean moans and throws his head back against the pillows as Cas sucks a hickey to his shoulder, safe where his uniform will hide it later. Dean likes his job, but he kind of resents that it limits where Cas can mark him. Call him juvenile, but Dean likes a healthy collar of bites and hickeys.

Cas rolls, pulling Dean so that Cas is on his back and Dean is on top of him. He spreads his legs wide in an open invitation, baring himself and sending Dean’s pulse racing so hot Dean wonders if _he’s_ sick. He takes a stretch of time just to lavish attention on Cas’ chest, sucking and biting at his nipples and then down his stomach, sliding his nails up and down Cas’ side. Cas is on fire, fever evident in the heat of his skin, and it shouldn’t be as much of a turn-on as it is.

He stops at Cas’ hips and takes his time, biting at the bones that jut out, relishing in the broken nonsense words and sounds that spill from Cas’ mouth. Beneath Dean, Cas is hard as Dean himself is, and he thrusts up every now and then, wanton with pleasure and Dean decides he’s about ready for more. He kisses up Cas’ body again and Cas pounces as soon as he’s back at face level, kissing Dean hard and twisting their tongues, making Dean groan and writhe. Yeah, Dean’s more than ready to be inside him right about now.

Cas is not too weakened by sickness to wrap his legs around Dean and drag him down, arresting Dean’s attention with the clash of their erections. Dean laments having to pull out of Cas’ grip to reach for lube, but it’s a necessary evil. He slicks up his fingers as fast as he can and has two inside Cas just as soon as they’re nice and slick. Cas shakes and moans and pushes down onto Dean’s fingers, clearly eager for a greater weight within him. Dean happily obliges, loving how completely wrecked Cas is quickly becoming.

Once Dean has five fingers pumping in and out of Cas, reaching for his prostrate and making him writhe wildly, Dean finally deems him fit for penetration. He hikes Cas’ legs up around him again, and Cas locks his legs in place. Dean takes a deep breath and pushes in, groaning at the intense, blissful white-hot pressure which is that much more heated because of Cas’ high temperature.  He rocks in and out of Cas much more gently than usual, and he knows Cas is sick because Cas doesn’t even protest the easy pace. It’s still crazy hot, though, in every sense of the word, and Dean falls out of touch with the inane nonsense his own mouth is spouting, lost in the wild pleasure of the moment.

Dean can tell when he’s hit Cas’ prostate in the way Cas’ legs tense up around him just the slightest and his nails scratching up Dean’s back have just the slightest bit more force. Cas leans up and kisses Dean desperately, and it’s more of a clash of open mouths than anything else. Dean can feel his orgasm building low in his stomach and his thrusts stutter and lose their steady regularity. Beneath him, Cas’ chest is heaving and there’s a fine sheen of sweat all over his body, and Dean’s pretty sure Cas is close, too. He’s gotten pretty good at telling when Cas is on the verge of an orgasm, and more often than not he’s right there with him, riding the edge and ready to succumb to the pressure.

Cas comes first, body seizing up as he gasps Dean’s name against Dean’s lips, eyes wide and pupils dilated. The sight of Cas riding the high of climax is usually enough to push Dean over the edge too, and today is no exception. Dean buries his face in Cas’ neck and his breath comes short and fast as pleasure shocks his system, rushing over him in waves. Cas whimpers below him as his over-sensitized body is filled with Dean’s release, and Dean has the presence of mind to pull out to give the guy a chance to compose himself. He collapses on to of Cas, chest to chest, and runs a hand through Cas’ sweaty hair before kissing him, close-mouthed and soft. Cas smiles at him, bright eyes the epitome of afterglow. They lie like that a moment, collecting themselves.

Dean wants nothing more than to fall asleep beneath dirty sheets beside Cas, but he has responsibilities that require him to be showered and presentable. Work would kinda suck if he had to go the day with dried come clinging to his skin. He sighs and forces himself up, groaning unhappily at having to leave the warmth of the bed. Cas pouts at him, which doesn’t help, and slips a burning hot hand on Dean’s waist, gently, in a silent request for Dean to stay.

“I gotta shower for work,” he says regretfully, and thankfully Cas lets him go without further protest. Dean takes a quick shower, eager to get out and take care of Cas, who still hasn’t eaten and has barely left his bed at all this morning. Dean treks out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, catching the not-so-subtle once-over Cas throws in his direction when he sees him.

Dean grabs the takeout container of chicken soup off the coffee table and takes it to the kitchen to microwave it. He pours some orange juice in the meantime and makes himself a sandwich, since it is his lunch break after all. The microwave announces that it’s done with a series of loud beeps just as Dean’s putting the top bread on his sandwich. He arranges everything on a tray and heads back to the living room, where Cas is pulling a sweater over his head. He’s already broken out the Christmas sweaters, and this one is black with white kittens wearing Santa hats. It looks warm, though, which is the only thing Dean cares about. He remembers from when Sam was a child and sick that it’s important to keep someone with a fever bundled up, despite how his instincts tell him to cool Cas down.

“Eat,” Dean says, placing the tray on the coffee table. Cas grabs a blanket off the bed and clambers onto the couch next to Dean, squishing in closer than usual and leaning his whole body against Dean in a way that reminds Dean of a kitten. It seems that being sick has made Cas more cuddly than usual, which is pretty damn adorable if Dean’s willing to admit. He hands Cas his bowl and spoon and grabs his own sandwich, closing his eyes blissfully as he eats. Cas looks at the bowl in his hands hesitantly before finally bringing the spoon to his lips and blowing on it. He seems content enough once he finally starts eating, and Dean wills himself to stop worrying.

Dean’s still got a little under a half hour until he has to leave once they’re done eating, so he sets the alarm on his phone and lays down on the couch, pulling Cas with him. They lay chest to chest and Cas tucks his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, sighing heavily. He’s still very warm, and Dean notes absently that he forgot to check Cas’ temperature. Cas’ breathing has already started to deepen, though, and Dean’s pretty sure the other man is on his way to sleep. He doesn’t want to wake him when he’s seems so peaceful, so he makes a mental note to check later.

The alarm is ringing before Dean even realizes he’s fallen asleep, and he hastens to turn it off before it has a chance to wake Cas. Thankfully, Cas only stirs slightly but doesn’t make any other indication of wakefulness, so Dean figures he’s all clear. He does his best to squirm out of Cas’ grip and off the couch without rousing his sleeping boyfriend, and silently fistpumps when he succeeds. On his way out the door a thought strikes him, and he turns on his heels and heads to the kitchen to rummage for a pen and paper. Once he’s found them, he writes a quick note:

_CAS:_

_DRINK LOTS OF FLUIDS AND TEXT ME YOUR TEMPERATURE AND SLEEP A LOT PLEASE_

_SERIOUSLY CAS DRINK ORANGE JUICE_

_LOVE YOU_

He stares at the message for a moment before nodding to himself affirmatively. He places it on the coffee table and then quietly sneaking out the door, casting one last wistful glance at Cas on the way out.

*

Cas’ temperature turns out to be a solid 100 degrees Fahrenheit, which apparently isn’t too major but it’s enough to have Dean worried all day and infinitely grateful to arrive home once the work day is over. On his way home he called Sam to bitch at him for getting Cas sick, but Sam quickly redirects the blame to both Dean and Cas for staying out in the cold decorating for so long. They stop bickering about it long enough for Sam to detail what Cas needs to get better – more soup, vitamin C pills and ginger tea. Dean begrudgingly thanks his little brother and stops at the supermarket on the way home to stock up on all these things. Cas rolls his eyes at Dean’s efforts but his gratitude is evident at the fond look he gives Dean when he walks into the room from the kitchen with a cup of tea and a bowl of soup.

By the following day, Cas’ fever has broken and Dean is showing no signs of catching the cold. He’s still coughing all the time, but he no longer feels too weak and achy to do anything. They celebrate with rough sex and later, pie from the diner, though Dean has Cas bundled up so much he looks somewhat like an Eskimo. Their co-worker chuckles at Cas’ grumpy face as she serves them, which only makes Cas look even more grumpy.

There’s some new cutesy kids’ Christmas movie playing in theatres that Cas has been waiting for since commercials started airing for it months ago, and Cas is not above using “but I’m _sick_ ” as a way of coercing Dean into agreeing to go. It seems a little dumb – something about Jack Frost, and who is he, anyway? – but Dean’s never been particularly strong against the pull of puppy-dog eyes, so he agrees. He makes like a high school boy in a cliché teen movie and wraps his arm around Cas’ seat. They push up the armrest and Cas settles into him comfortably. Dean’s all set to hate the movie, but it ends up being interesting, with excellent animation and a properly creepy bad guy. When he mentions this to Cas after the movie, Cas looks pleased as a kitten with a saucer of milk, and it reminds Dean just how much Cas values his opinion.

They spend the rest of the day baking cookies, half of which they intend to bring with them to Bobby’s and half they plan to give to Lyric and Jane. Cas is wearing a Christmas apron with a cartoon Santa on it and girly frills around the edges, and he seems to be oblivious at how tragically it’s defying his manliness, and Dean refrains from pointing it out. Dean skates around in his socks on the smooth kitchen floor and Cas plays Christmas music, singing along when Rudolph’s song comes on. Dean’s surprised to find that he remembers the names of all the reindeer after all this time. He tries not to sing along in order to spare his dignity, but Cas’ happiness is infectious and he catches himself mouthing the words throughout the song. All in all, it’s a good evening and feels every bit as Christmasy as last year, if not more so.

There’s a TV channel featuring a 12 days of Christmas marathon, playing classic Christmas movies night and day. They snuggle into the couch later that evening with snowman candles as the only source of light in the room, and eventually and fall asleep in front of the TV. Dean’s the little spoon, with his back pressed to Cas’ chest, and he feels warm and safe in Cas’ arms. Cas’ chin is resting on Dean’s shoulder and his cheek is against Dean’s, and all feels right with the world.

*

Bobby calls the following morning with news of a case right in their area – multiple reports of a Jersey devil in South Jersey who is already responsible for three deaths and could easily take out more. Bobby seems oddly reluctant to share the information, and Dean has a sneaking suspicion it’s because Bobby’s with Sam on the desire for Dean and Cas to stop hunting. Dean ignores Bobby’s obvious discomfort and writes down the details, getting all the information Bobby has on Jersey devils, which Dean has never come across before.

Dean and Cas fight about the hunt. They’ve haven’t fought in a while, not since Sam’s wedding, and it feels strange for Dean to raise his voice – and even stranger to hear Cas raise his, too. Cas can’t go ten minutes without a coughing fit, and Dean’s not willing to risk getting overheard by what they’re hunting. Cas is vehemently against Dean going at the hunt alone and vocalizes this sharply, putting Dean on the defensive. And hanging over all this is the unspoken fact that neither of them are apparently going to mention; they had plans to go ice skating and get their tree today.

“You’re going to get hurt,” Cas says sharply, leaning against the door in a subtle attempt to block it. It doesn’t go unnoticed to Dean, and it only serves to irritate him more. He laughs, empty and hollow, and pins Cas with a heated glare.

“I’m not some rookie, Cas, I can take care of myself. Are you forgetting that I went weeks without Sam before? I was just fine. Stop blowing this out of proportion.”

“I’m going with you,” Cas insists, crossing his arms with a glare that rivals Dean’s own.

“No, you’re not,” Dean snaps. “That cough is going to get us _killed_ , Cas. For someone who’s making a huge deal out of safety, you seem to have no problem overlooking that.”

“I’ll take cough medicine,” Cas says, voice tight and harsh, brow furrowed in anger and shoulders tense. Dean rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s been so reliable thus far,” he says, rummaging through the coat closet and pulling out his leather jacket.

“I won’t allow you to go without me,” Cas growls as Dean slips on his coat, pointedly looking anywhere but at Cas.

“Yeah? And how exactly are going to stop me?” Dean challenges, and Cas looks a little taken aback by it, as though he wasn’t expecting Dean to go as far as outright ignoring his wishes. His posture changes, then, and he slumps against the door, glare dissolving into something much more broken. Dean can’t help but meet his eyes.

“Don’t go,” Cas says, and his voice is no longer an octave too loud and a shade too sharp. Dean’s not swayed by it, though, and he ignores Cas in favor of grabbing the keys and shoving past Cas aggressively. Cas watches him leave, defeated, and Dean tries not to think about the awful look on Cas’ face because if he does, he’ll have to acknowledge that he’s the one that put it there. He slams the door shut and then gets in the car and drives, blasting classic rock and trying to work through the knot in his stomach.

*

The Pine Barrens of South Jersey are shadowy and surprisingly dense, with tall trees that tower high overhead and block out sunlight. While Dean has the advantage of the trees being bare of leaves, the overcast sky isn’t doing him any favors by way of making the hunt any easier. His shotgun is loaded with silver bullets and two civilians who were lost in the woods – children, both no older than 13 – trail close behind him. They both saw the thing and barely escaped a gruesome death when Dean scared the thing off with a shot that just barely missed the creature. Lightning fast, it had run off, but Dean’s instincts let him know they’re still being hunted, just as he’s hunting it.

The priority is to get these kids out of harm’s way, though, and he’s leading the way through the trail he’s marked to get them out of the woods. He can see the edge of the woods from here, can see suburban houses in the distance, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He doubts the creature will attack this close to civilization. A shifting in the leaves on the forest floor nearby has him on alert, but not necessarily concerned; from what he’s heard of them, Jersey devils don’t like straying from the safety of the Pine Barrens.

The next thing Dean knows, a searing pain is coursing through his back, mind-blowing in the sheer magnitude of the pulsing agony of four long, sharp claws ripping into his flesh. He’s only able to make out the sound of a shrill scream and a gunshot before he crashes to the ground, unconscious.

*

_Castiel does not know how to be alone._

_For thousands of years, his mind was always abuzz with the presence of his brothers. Being part of a garrison meant that his Grace was always in connected to others; there was never a moment when he could not feel the weighty reality of heaven and its angels heavy in his mind, in his Grace, in his wings. He was a soldier whose existence only made sense within the context of the army he served. It was a comfort, being able to feel them always. He was not designed to function as a single unit._

_And then he_ fell _, and his powers slowly tapered out and the connection was severed. The last traces of it were ripped out when he lost his wings and subsequently his Grace, and Castiel was alone in body, spirit and mind for the first time in eternity. Castiel was completely on his own and he realized, then, how incredibly and overwhelmingly unsuited he was for a solitary existence._

_But he had Dean._

_The steady ache of loneliness trickled away as the two of them drew closer. Every smile from Dean has made Castiel feel a little less hopeless; in time, the hopelessness has melted away completely. He has stopped missing his wings because_ Dean _is his wings, and has fallen beautifully and terrifyingly in love. Castiel is happy, and only since becoming happy has he been able to realize that he was never truly happy before. Connection without intimacy is worthless. Solidarity without love is empty. Castiel is sure that to be alone again, now, after learning the true depths of being in love with another person, would kill him. It is unfathomable._

_It is these thoughts that hit Castiel in a panicked rush when he gets a phone call from a South Jersey hospital telling him that Dean has been “stabbed.” Castiel leans his head against the kitchen doorway and calmly requests information and directions while his whole body shakes and his insides feel like they’re detonating. Dean hasn’t woken since he arrived, she says, and adds that she can’t disclose any further information over the phone. He thanks the nurse tonelessly and calls a cab, trying to keep it together, trying to do anything but imagine a world without Dean._

_A small part of Castiel is furious at Dean for ignoring his entreaties not to go alone, but it’s swallowed up under the host of other feelings that are threatening to drown him. He gets dressed and puts on one of Dean’s old t-shirts under his other layers, a heavy lump rising in his throat as he breathes in deep and smells nothing but Dean, Dean, Dean. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to clear his head, because he’s afraid if he lets a tear slip he won’t be able to stop. Now is the time to be strong. Castiel was once a soldier, after all. He pulls on his coat and gloves methodically, thoughtlessly._

_The cab outside announces its presence with a beep of its horn, and Castiel rushes to it, half-running despite himself. He gives the cabbie the address and takes deep, shaky breaths, willing the car to go faster. Cab fare will probably be exorbitant, but that’s the last thing on Castiel’s mind right now._

_Castiel must be in some sort of reverie, because before he knows it he’s at Our Lady of Lords hospital in South Jersey and he’s paying the cabbie and exiting the taxi. He apparently looks more shaken than he realized, because the woman at the front desk asks if he’s okay when he walks up to ask where Dean is. Castiel responds honestly, “No, I don’t think so,” before wiping at phantom tears and reigning himself in again. She gives him Dean’s room number without trouble when Castiel provides false evidence that he is Dean’s legal partner – something he’s grateful they thought of getting months ago, for this very reason – and takes the elevator up to Dean’s floor. The place smells of overly sterile cleaning products and slowly dying people and Castiel feels nauseous._

_He finds Dean’s room and heaves a deep breath before entering. The lights are off and Dean’s eyes are closed. He has an IV attached to one arm and his features look troubled, even in sleep. His chest is heavily bandaged. He looks dead and Castiel almost loses his grip on himself when this occurs to him, and he repeatedly reminds himself that Dean is_ not _dead, that he is merely unconscious which is notably different. He wishes that a nurse would come and tell him what is going on. He wants to know when Dean is going to wake up._

_Castiel drapes his trench coat over a chair in the corner of the room and drags the chair to Dean’s bedside, sitting down and taking the other man’s hand in his. Dean should be awake, and they should be laughing and joking about how Castiel was right and is always right and how Dean should listen to him always. Dean should be requesting pie and complaining about not being able to have sex because of his injuries. Castiel can’t bear the idea of days and days spent in the silent room watching someone who is normally so animated lay so silently._

_Castiel cradles his head in his arms and rests it on the bed, eyes closed because the sight of Dean like this is overwhelming. He doesn’t notice when the nurse walks in, and jumps when she taps him on the shoulder._

_“Mr. Winchester?” she asks, and Castiel nods because he’s supposed to be married to Dean right now._

_“I’d like to talk to you about the status of your partner.”_

_Castiel lifts his head and swallows hard._

_“Yes, please,” he says, and she seems surprised by his formality._

_“Right now he’s in medically induced sleep because his body needs rest in order for the wounds to heal,” she starts, but Castiel is surged with such relief that he can’t keep himself from speaking over her._

_“Medically induced? The doctors are regulating this?”_

_The nurse smiles reassuringly._

_“Yes. Dean will be fine. We’ll slowly wean him off the sleeping drugs and hopefully he’ll be conscious by morning. His wounds aren’t very deep and nothing major was punctured. We expect him to make a full recovery.”_

_Only then does Castiel allow himself to cry._

_*_

When Dean wakes up, he’s in a foreign bed in a foreign room and the only familiar thing is Cas’ body tucked in next to his. He turns to look at him better and winces as a sharp pain jabs through his system and he lays back down, staring at the ceiling. He’s barely awake ten seconds before Cas is rousing beside him, sitting up and looking at him.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, and his eyes are brimming with so much emotion that Dean is instantly aware that something really bad has happened. A brief glance around the room tells Dean that they’re in a hospital, and the IV dangling from Dean’s arm indicates that Dean is the cause. Cas is staring at him as though he’s been resurrected or something.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says wearily, running his free hand through Cas’ hair.

“How do you feel?” Cas asks, and Dean laughs.

“Like I’ve been hit by a steamroller,” he says honestly, and Cas looks so troubled by this that Dean wishes he hadn’t been so blunt.

“I have never missed my powers as much as I do now,” Cas whispers, and Dean slips his hand down Cas’ face and draws Cas gently up to kiss him because it would hurt too much to move himself. Cas gives him the gentlest of kisses, like he’s afraid Dean will break beneath him.

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean says dismissively. “I’ve been hurt worse.”

Cas furrows his brows disbelievingly.

“I’ve died a couple times, dude. This is just a scratch in comparison.”

“I was worried,” Cas says quietly, and Dean can tell that he means it with all of his being. Dean’s hit with a surge of guilt and it’s suddenly difficult to meet Cas’ eyes. He remembers what happened, now, and the fact that Cas feared this before it even happened makes it that much worse.

“I’m a jackass, aren’t I?” Dean asks, sighing heavily.

“Yes,” Cas agrees without hesitation, glaring at Dean. Dean does his best to convey the guilt he feels in his eyes and his words.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he says, and Cas’ expression melts and that quick, Dean is forgiven. Dean knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he’s thankful.

“Kiss me again?” Dean asks, because Cas has moved and he can’t. Cas smiles his little smile and complies, drawing this one out longer than the last. Dean sighs happily into the kiss, grateful to be alive.

*

When Sam and Sarah catch word of Dean’s injury, they make the trip down to Media despite Dean’s assurances that he’s fine. After his fourth day in the hospital, Dean’s getting restless but thankfully the doctor and nurses have negotiated his release as long as he promises to take it easy. Dean and Cas arrive home just as Sam and Sarah are pulling up, and Dean sees Sam’s big hug coming and puts his hands up in caution to remind Sam not to squeeze him. Sam catches the gesture and his embrace is feather-light, and Sarah does the same.

“We rearranged our flight so we’ll be flying out of Philadelphia International instead of JFK,” Sarah tells him as they enter the house, and Dean groans.

“You guys are all alarmists, y’know that?” he mutters. “How’s a guy supposed to get laid if his brother and sister-in-law are hanging around?”

Cas looks appropriately embarrassed at this comment, as does Sam, who exclaims “ _Gross!”_ and wrinkles his nose. Sarah just laughs and rolls her eyes.

“Like you’d be getting any, anyway. You’re wounded,” she says dismissively.

Sam and Sarah look around the apartment, and Dean’s confused by the matching surprised expressions on their faces. It’s not the usual look of impressment that they usually give when they see Cas’ decorating; instead, they’re staring conspicuously at the corner of the room.

“Where’s the tree?” Sam asks, effectively explaining their expressions. Again, Dean’s hit with a wave of guilt – they were supposed to have one by now, and would if not for him. Cas is looking at him worriedly, as though anticipating Dean’s inner response. He touches Dean’s wrist gently, pulling him out of his dark thoughts, and speaks before Dean has a chance to voice any of his self-hating thoughts.

“We’ve been preoccupied,” Cas says simply, in a way that decidedly ends the conversation. Sam and Sarah exchange looks.

“Let’s go get one, then,” Sarah suggests with a shrug. Cas casts an uneasy glance at Dean.

“Dean’s not supposed to go anywhere,” he tells them, as if they don’t already know.

“We don’t need Dean to pick out a tree,” Sam says, and he has a point. He probably wouldn’t be much help with it, anyway; last year he just let Cas pick it out. Last year was a whole world different than this year, though, and Dean wonders silently if the process would be different this year. He puts that out of his mind, though. Cas deserves a tree and in a couple days they’ll be leaving for Bobby’s. There’s not much time to enjoy it if they don’t get one today.

“Sammy’s right,” Dean forces himself to agree. “You guys go on without me.”

“C’mon, Cas, it’ll be fun,” Sarah chimes in.

 _“No.”_ Cas’ voice is so sharp it shuts everyone up, and everyone in the room turns to stare at him. He looks surprised at their sudden attention and chews the inside of his cheek silently for a moment before speaking again.

“All of this – my life, my happiness, with Dean… it all started with a tree. It would feel wrong to do this without him.” He stares at his shoes and rocks on his heels, demonstrating just how inept he is at this whole love business, too. He’s clearly embarrassed at being so sentimental, but not enough to keep from saying it. Dean reaches for Cas’ hand and squeezes it. He wants to tell Cas that it’s no big deal, that he’s being silly and should just go get the damn tree… but he’s kind of on the same page as Cas with all the symbolism whatever, embarrassing though it may be. He wants to do this with Cas, or he doesn’t want Cas to do it at all. He knows it’s selfish, but he’s grateful that Cas feels the same way.

“Would it really be so bad for me to take a quick trip to get a tree?” Dean asks, frowning as he rubs circles in Cas’ hand with his thumb. In all honesty, the idea of going anywhere makes him want to wince in pain just thinking about it, but he’s willing to endure for Cas’ sake. As always, Cas sees right through him. He shakes his head.

“We’ll see how you feel in the morning,” he says. “You need rest for right now. You also need pain medication.” Cas pulls Dean’s prescription from the depths of his trench coat pockets and leads Dean by the hand to the kitchen.

“Aw, Cas, they’re gonna make me sleepy,” Dean whines half-heartedly. He wants to enjoy Sam and Sarah’s company, and feels bad that he’s about to pass out on Cas _again_. He feels like he’s spent way too much time unconscious the past few days, with Cas hovering nearby, lonely and worried. Cas gives him a fond look but otherwise ignores his entreaties in favor of pouring him a glass of water.

“Unconsciousness is your penance for disobeying me,” Cas says matter-of-factly as he hands Dean a tiny mountain of pills and the glass. Dean sighs because, yeah, the guy has a point there.

“’m sorry, Cas,” Dean says tiredly as he pops the pills and swallows down gulps of water. Cas crosses the kitchen and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist.

“You were forgiven the moment I found out you would live,” Cas says quietly, pressing a kiss to Dean’s jaw.

Dean huffs an airy laugh.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says fondly, and Cas looks genuinely taken aback by the comment. He tilts his head to the side in a display of confusion that Dean has found endearing since day one.

“Dean,” he says slowly, brows furrowed, “I often wonder if I was crafted for you, and you for me. There is no ‘deserving’. We are supposed to be together.”

Cas has basically said every cliché romance novel chickflick line he could possibly say in one breath… and it doesn’t bother Dean. Once upon a time he might have shied from this talk of being made for each other, this idea of purpose and belonging. But here, now, in this moment… Dean’s willing to accept that there is something undoubtedly real about what Cas is saying. Dean feels it too, feels it in his core. He and Cas just _fit_.

“I think you’re right,” Dean says, surprising himself in that he’s vocalizing his thoughts. Cas looks surprised, too, eyebrows arching up, eyes searching Dean’s. Dean kisses him because it feels like the time to do so, and Cas kisses back. They hold each other, gently to spare Dean’s wounds, and stand there unmoving for what feels like a very long time. Dean can feel Cas’ fingers curling in his shirt, and he knows that Cas is clinging as tightly as he dares. Dean finds himself doing the same.

“Please don’t do anything like this again,” Cas whispers in Dean’s ear, and for a moment Dean considers the impossible – giving up hunting forever. But he knows that that’s not what Cas is asking for, that Cas would never ask that of him, so he shakes the thought from his mind and shakes his head in response to Cas.

“Never again,” he promises, and Cas gives one last heaving sigh before letting Dean go.

“We’re being rude to our guests,” Cas points out. “Go join them, enjoy their company before you fall asleep. I’ll make hot chocolate.”

“Do you want any help?” Dean offers, and Cas responds with a _look_.

“Absolutely not. You need to be resting. Go,” he says, shooing Dean, who laughs and finally complies. Sam’s on the couch and Sarah is up messing with their fake heated fireplace, trying to turn it on. Dean walks over and adjusts the controls for her so that it’s blowing full force, and she smiles gratefully and thanks him before joining Sam on the couch.

“Bobby got some other hunters to take the case, by the way,” Sam mentions. “It took three of them to take it down. It was apparently faster and stronger than usual.” He raises his eyebrows pointedly at Dean, clearly admonishing him in what was probably an attempt to be subtle.

“I can vouch for that,” he replies gruffly. “They gank that son of a bitch?”

“Yeah, they got him.”

“Good.”

Dean only wishes he’d had the pleasure of killing it himself.

*

For once, Dean has the pleasure of waking up in his own bed while Sam and Sarah are sleeping over. Typically he and Cas, with their combined insistence, can convince the Sam and Sarah to take the bed while the two of them snuggle up on the couch. This time, though, Sam and Sarah would have none of it; it was unanimously decided (save for Dean’s vote, which was apparently not a consideration) that Dean would rest better in the comfort of his own bed with the familiarity of Cas sleeping beside him, and so he ended up doing just that. Part of him hates being treated so fragilely, but another surprising half is soaking up being doted over. Never mind that the affection is littered with slight jabs at Dean’s decision-making skills; he can deal with that. He’s certainly earned it.

Sam and Sarah wake before he does, and Sarah’s bringing in a tray of breakfast just as he’s opening his eyes. He’s surprised to see Cas still sleeping beside him, but once he thinks about it, it makes sense. Cas hasn’t spent a night in his own room since the accident, either, and there’s no way he got any restful sleep in a hospital, worried about Dean. Dean doesn’t want to wake him, but he also doesn’t want the other plate of food on the tray to go cold. He thanks Sarah graciously as he takes the tray and then turns to nudge Cas gently in the ribs. Cas stirs subtly but doesn’t open his eyes, so Dean changes tactics, tickling his sides instead of nudging him. This gets Cas’ attention, and it’s enough to get him to squirm and then open his eyes, smiling and trying to evade Dean’s fingers.

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” Dean says quietly enough that the petname goes unheard by the other occupants of the room. Sam and Sarah are sitting on the couch with cups of coffee, both absorbed in whatever is on TV.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas responds, just as quietly. He looks at the tray in Dean’s hands and raises his eyebrows. “You…?”

Dean shakes his head.

“Sarah. She’s a gift,” he says with a grin, and Cas nods sleepily in agreement before stretching his limbs wide and sitting up, scooting in next to Dean and dragging the tray over their laps. They eat quietly, shoulders pressed together, and Dean doesn’t notice at first that Cas is watching him thoughtfully. He stops in the middle of chewing a mouthful of omelet when he does, eyebrows arching up in question.

“I’m trying to determine whether or not you’re well enough to leave the house,” Cas says in reply to Dean’s unspoken inquiry.

Dean swallows his bite of food before snorting and rolling his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he says, and Cas stares at him blankly.

“If I thought your word could be trusted on it, I would have asked,” he explains, eyes steadily trained on Dean as though if he ups the intensity level on the gaze it’ll help him answer his question. Dean stares right back because, well… he likes staring at Cas.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Dean insists, and when Cas doesn’t look swayed, Dean switches tactics. He’s not half as good at puppy dog eyes as Cas and Sam are, but he’s certainly not a stranger to the art of the pout. He lets his lower lip pucker out just the slightest bit and pins Cas with wide green eyes, and Cas’ resolve is practically a tangible thing crumbling.

“Please, Cas? I want to pick out a tree with you.” Dean typically saves his manners for sex, but he’s not above making exceptions. Cas’ brow wrinkles with indecision.

“Will you two please save the laser eyes for when you _don’t_ have company?” Sam whines from across the couch, and Dean loses his puppy dog pout and Cas seems to reel in his uncertainty.

“My apologies,” Cas says, effectively debasing Dean’s intended denial of there having been any ‘laser eyes’ in the first place. “May I suggest we all vote on Dean’s ability to leave the house?”

Dean groans.

“That’s not fair,” he protests. “I’m outnumbered. Can’t we just skip this part and get in the car? I promise I won’t go out again until we’re heading to the airport.” There’s a pause as everyone exchanges looks. _“Come on,_ ” Dean snaps, annoyed, and finally Sam shrugs and seems to have some sort of silent conversation with Sarah. She nods, smiling at Dean.

“I vote yes,” she says. “I say he should go.”

“This is ridiculous,” Dean mutters, but Sam surprises him by chiming in his assent as well, and Cas begrudgingly agrees once he sees that he’s outnumbered. The only matter left, then, is that of changing the dressing on Dean’s wounds. Sam and Sarah politely duck out to have coffee together at a nearby café, which Dean is grateful for. He usually doesn’t mind the size of the tiny flat he shares with Cas – having grown up in motels, this could practically be considered spacious – but moments like these make him wish they had a bigger place to live.

“Lay down,” Cas instructs gently as he walks in from the kitchen, drying his hands on his pants. Dean does as he’s instructed and lays on his stomach, settling his face into a pillow as he hears Cas behind him, setting up a bag to put the bloodied dressings and laying out new bandages to use when the other ones have been removed. Then Cas crawls onto the bed, straddling Dean’s thighs. At first, Cas’ fingers trace the outline of Dean’s bandages delicately, as though he’s afraid of hurting Dean. In truth, Dean’s back is aching and even the slight touch feels like it’s throbbing. Still, Dean hates being treated like he’s breakable and wishes he could tell Cas he’s overdoing it – but of course, he’s not.

Cas’ cautious fingers slowly remove Dean’s bandages, the tape peeling off his skin, thankfully, without catching. He hisses a sharp breath inward when the wound hits open air, and hears Cas draw in his breath just as sharply. Dean realizes he’s never seen the wound himself; he wasn’t sure if Cas had seen it while he was unconscious, either, but the way Cas’ hands freeze and go tense against Dean’s back lead him to believe that Cas hadn’t before this moment. There’s a period of tense and awkward silence where Dean waits and Cas doesn’t move at all. Dean tries to cut through the awkward with an off chuckle.

“Is it that bad?” he asks, smiling sheepishly into his pillow.

“It doesn’t matter how it looks,” Cas says, voice sounding tight and strained. “It just matters that you’re here.”

Dean knows that the implication behind ‘ _here’_ is an unspoken ‘ _and not dead’._

“I love you,” Dean murmurs, because he knows Cas will bat off any further apologies. Cas responds by pressing a kiss to the nape of Dean’s neck and then kissing down his spine, stopping where the bandages go. Then Cas leans back and Dean feels a warm, damp cloth delicately cleaning his skin in tiny, soothing circles. Cas is meticulous and gentle and Dean finds himself relaxing against the mattress, body going limp as Cas takes care of him.

Soon enough, the wound is thoroughly cleaned and Cas is reapplying a new set of bandages. He kisses the bandaged area once he’s done, and Dean takes this as a sign that it’s okay to slowly sit up. Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and pulls him in for a hug, burying his face in Dean’s neck. Cas kisses the skin below Dean’s jaw and Dean sighs discontentedly because he wishes the big tears in his back weren’t there to prevent him from turning the kiss into something more intimate. Cas seems to understand the sentiment because he draws away and affectionately ruffles his hands through Dean’s short, sandy hair, smiling softly at him.

“You’ll be well soon,” Cas tells him, and there’s _promise_ in the way he voice dips just slightly lower, and Dean shivers.

“Not soon enough,” Dean mutters, and Cas laughs.

“Let’s get you dressed,” Cas says, getting off the bed to rummage through their dresser and pull out clothes for Dean. He gingerly helps Dean into a green sweater and a pair of jeans before pulling on his own sweater – a hideous tan and white thing featuring dark blue deer silhouettes – and helping Dean out of bed. They’re just pulling on hats and gloves as Sam and Sarah arrive, and the four of them pile into the car. Dean sits in the back with Cas, trying not to pout about not being allowed to drive, even though he knows he’s capable of it. The trip to where the trees are sold is a short one, though, so he doesn’t have much time to sulk.

Cas and Sarah are one in the conviction that the tree should be as tall and wide as possible, though Sam and Dean point out that the flat’s front entrance isn’t exactly the biggest. There is a veritable forest of Christmas trees available at the outdoor roadside shop they stop at, and Cas and Sarah beeline to the back where the monstrous ones are kept. There’s no way any of these will fit inside, but neither of them seem to care. They wonder through the towering firs and with looks of delight that match, despite being expressed different. Sarah has a wide grin and Cas’ smile is small and subtle, but happiness rolls off them both in waves.

“Are you looking for a tree too, _Cassy-ell_?” asks a tiny, familiar voice from somewhere unseen amongst the trees. Dean and Cas look around excitedly, but don’t manage to find Lyric until her arms are wrapped around either of their legs. They look down at her fondly and she looks up excitedly, toothy grin showing off a gap where she’s lost a tooth. Dean ruffles her loose hair and Cas picks her up, holding her close.

“Look, Cas, you caught a Christmas elf,” Dean says, winking at Lyric, who bursts into a fit of giggles and squirms.

“I’m not an elf! I’m Lyric!” she insists, and Cas smiles and kisses her cheek, and it’s weird to see Cas kissing anyone but Dean. It’s a good feeling, seeing it, though, and Dean feels warm all over.

“Of course you are, Lyric. You are my favorite little girl. Dean is being silly,” Cas says, and she smiles ear to ear. Dean rolls his eyes.

“You’re no fun,” he tells Dean. Jayne emerges from amongst other trees, then, wearing a smile that matches her daughter’s down to the dimples. She’s got a Santa hat on that Dean is pretty sure Lyric talked her into, and both mother and daughter are wearing ugly Christmas sweaters that are suspiciously similar to Cas’. Two uniformed men carrying a Christmas tree are following her.

“You guys out tree shopping, too?” Dean asks, eyeing the tree. It looks appropriately large, and Dean’s glad; their new house is big enough for it, and it’d be a damn shame if they didn’t make the absolute best of the space.

“Our first real tree,” Jayne says, looking much younger for a moment, and almost as excited as her small daughter.

“I’m real happy for you,” Dean says with conviction, smiling so hard it almost hurts his face.

“Where do you want this tree, miss?” one of the store workers asks gruffly and she directs them to her car, promising to be there to pay in a moment.

“How’s the new house?” Dean asks Jayne conversationally as they all wander through the trees, looking for their own tree. Lyric makes a face.

“I don’t like it. It’s _scary,_ ” Lyric mumbles quietly to Cas in a stage whisper that everyone hears. Jayne frowns.

“It’s a good house,” Jayne says hesitantly. “It just… y’know, it’s an old house. Our last apartment was tiny but it was new, so Lyric’s used to that style of house. It gets drafty sometimes and when the lights are off, it’s pitch black. Just some stuff to get used to. It really is a great house,” Jayne insists.

“It makes weird noises,” Lyric adds unhappily, though the pout on her lips is more endearing than concerning.

“I told you, baby, it’s just the house setting,” she says, shaking her head gently like this is conversation they’ve had a million times. Dean’s about to inquire a little more just to ease his own paranoid mind – too many years of hunting monsters will do that to a guy – but the store workers call her over impatiently to pay for her tree and she takes Lyric back from Cas, smiling fondly at them.

“It was very nice seeing you,” she says, and Lyric grins wide and waves at them excitedly before they leave. Dean doesn’t feel entirely at ease about the conversation, and he watches them uncertainly as they walk away. He’s about to say as much to Cas when Cas grabs his hands and squeezes it.

“There,” Cas says, pointing to a specific tree. One look already says that it’s perfect. It’s the right height, borderline too tall but Dean thinks it’ll fit. It’s thicker than most, but just wide enough that it’ll fit through the door with ease. His eyes meet Dean and there’s a silent agreement there, and when Cas sees it his chest puffs up with excitement.

They call Sam and Sarah over, and their reactions are just as instantaneously pleased. They don’t bother searching anymore, because nothing they could find would top this. It’s paid for and attached to the Impala in a matter of minutes, and before long they’re heading home with the tree strapped to their car. Dean and Cas hold hands the whole short ride home, leaning into each other comfortably.

*

They spend the rest of the afternoon doing everything Dean has deemed to fall under the category of ‘Christmas Stuff’. The four of them decorate the tree, although Cas and Sarah have most say in what goes where. Dean doesn’t mind, though; it’s fun to be part of something, and the tree ends up looking beautiful under their direction. It’s something straight out of a movie, and even more impressive than last year. There’s popcorn garland hanging from the branches – garland Sam and Dean strung themselves – and thick red ribbons tucked into green all throughout. There are ornaments of varying sizes and colors, all of them ornate and handpicked by Cas. It stands in the frame of the window and its cheery lights can be seen from outside, completing their Christmasy atmosphere.

They all sit back and stare at their handiwork with pride when it’s done, sipping hot chocolate on the couch and eating gingerbread cookies they all made together in the kitchen. Dean’s getting tired after a mandatory dose of pain medications and keeps finding himself nodding off on Cas’ shoulder. Sarah lights Cas’ plethora of Christmas candles, turns on the TV and shuts off the lights and the four of them watch Home Alone, laughing at the hilarity of how civilian children react to no parental supervision. Dean doesn’t intend to fall asleep there, but the next thing he knows all the candles are out and he’s being shifted so that he’s laying down and Cas is close beside him.

It’s better than last year in a million ways, though it seems wrong to compare anything to their first Christmas together. This tree may look more impressive, but it’s not the thing that brought them together, that pitiful, laughable thing that had clearly been decorated by two then-bachelors. And it’s great to be spending so much time with Sam and Sarah, but those first shy moments Dean and Cas had spent alone together, skirting mistletoe and feelings, had been special in and of themselves. Dean’s grateful for both, and thankful that this is where his year has brought him.

*

Sam and Sarah’s flight to Bobby’s on Christmas Eve departs at an unholy time in the morning, and they’re up and getting ready to go before Dean’s even remotely prepared to wake up. He tugs a pillow over his eyes irritably as they get together as quickly and quietly as possible. They whisper goodbyes and slip out the door with much more stealth and grace than Dean could have accomplished in their position, and soon enough Cas and Dean are left in darkness and quiet.

“You up, Cas?” Dean grumbles. Cas nods sleepily.

“We should go to Jane and Lyric’s today and build Lyric’s treehouse, as a Christmas present,” Dean comments absently, tracing blind circles in Cas’ skin.

“I like that idea,” Cas agrees tiredly. “You’re sure you’re feeling well enough to do that?”

Dean huffs.

“It’s been over a week since the son of a bitch got me, man, I’m fine. I’ll just let you carry the heavy stuff,” he adds begrudgingly, because while he’s totally sure he’s fine to do this, the idea of lifting anything heavier than Lyric still makes him wince.

“I suppose that’s alright,” Cas concedes. “Now go back to sleep.”

Dean does as he’s told, letting his eyes fall closed as he snuggles in close to Cas. When he next opens his eyes, the sun is high in the sky and Cas is already up, playing Christmas music from the kitchen where he’s probably making breakfast. Dean tiptoes up to the kitchen, half-hoping to catch Cas singing again, but he finds Cas squinting at a recipe book, wooden spoon in hand.

“What’re you up to, my little chef?” Dean asks, padding into the kitchen and taking a seat on one of the counters.

“I’m not little,” Cas says distractedly. “I’m making us gingerbread pancakes because it’s Christmas Eve.”

“That sounds amazing,” Dean says, subconsciously licking his lips. Cas looks up just then and tracks the motion with his eyes, and Dean watches the other man swallow hard. Dean can’t fight the grin on his face.

“I am so well enough for some Christmas sex tonight,” he says, and Cas’ ears go slightly red. Cas clears his throat.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says, fighting to keep his voice even. Dean waves him off.

“Yeah, yeah. Once your dick’s in my mouth I doubt you’ll be in much the mood to resist any more. It’s been _agony_ , Cas, seriously.”

Cas stares at him, eyes dark, before clearing his throat once more.

“We’ll see,” he insists stubbornly. Dean just chuckles and shakes his head, and Cas goes back to his cooking. Dean’s surprised to find that that it’s already noon, and that once they’ve finished eating they’ve got to pack and then head to Jane and Lyric’s if they’re going to make their 7pm flight. He mentions as much to Cas, who shoos him off to start packing while he finishes cooking.

Dean’s got half a bag packed when Cas summons him in for breakfast, which is startlingly good, though by now Dean should know better than to be taken off guard by how good Cas’ cooking is. They don’t take as much time to enjoy it as they normally would, though, what with the reality of their time constraints having finally set in. They just short of scarf it before darting back into the main room to finish packing.

Thankfully their trip isn’t going to be more than a few days and doesn’t require any thoughtful packing, particularly for two men used to packing up all their belongings and moving to a new hotel on the drop of a dime, any given day. They’re out of the house soon enough, and Dean tries not to let himself get overwhelmed by the fact that it’s Christmas Eve and Cas is wearing the same winged sweater Dean gave him last year.

There’s a small wrapped box in Cas’ hands containing their gift for Jayne. It’s a necklace, an expensive diamond-studded one that they saved up to get for her. It features two wings that dangle from a thin silver chain and make a faint tinkling noise when they tap together. While Jayne may not ever understand the significance of wings to Dean and Cas, they hope somehow the message will still come through. Cas’ wings were his most valued things; to give this necklace to Jayne is their way of saying that she and Lyric have become the same to them. Lyric’s present resting in the backseat is far less deep. While the tree house is certainly the main event, they couldn’t keep from buying her the giant teddy bear that caught their eye the last time they went shopping. It’s about a foot shorter than she is and just as wide. It’s got soft brown fur and button eyes, and Dean hopes it’ll help her be less scared at night.

 Dean cuts the engine when they pull up to the house and instantly, something feels off. Dean’s not sure what it is, only that there’s a sick, lurching feeling of dread sinking from his throat to his stomach, making every hair on his skin stand on end. He looks at Cas and finds an expression that must reflect his own – pale face, tense shoulders and hands balled up tight. Cas holds the look a long moment before looking out the window, and the way his mouth drops and his eyes widen has Dean ripping off his seatbelt and forcing open his door in a millisecond.

What Dean sees makes his blood run cold.

There’s smoke and flame raging behind one of the second floor windows and _Lyric_ is at it, tiny fists pounding wildly at the glass, mouth open in a scream that Dean and Cas can’t hear from where they are.  It takes barely a breath for Dean to compose himself before he and Cas are both racing toward the house. Lyric’s voice echoes in Dean’s mind and he can’t get over how fucking _stupid_ he was. All the warning signs had been there. Cold spots, strange noises, an eerie feeling…

_I don’t like it. It’s scary._

Dean’s not ready to lose anyone else he loves to flames or the supernatural.

They burst into the front door – which is, thankfully, unlocked – and both instinctively look at each other. There’s smoke coursing through the house and the lights are out, making it difficult to see. A terrible scream echoes through the house and Dean feels his heart turn to lead.

It’s Jayne.

They both take off toward the fiery inferno that is Jayne’s room. Dean runs as fast as his legs can carry him up the stairs that creak loudly under his feet, stairs that have become so familiar in such a short amount of time. Jayne’s door is shut and the doorknob is hot to the touch once they arrive. On a hunch, Dean rams his whole body into the door; it splinters under the combined stress of the heat from the fire and his weight. Flames crackle everywhere, washing the room in a sickening orange haze that has Dean one yellow-eyed demon short of a flashback.

 _“Dean!”_ screeches a tiny, familiar force that makes Dean’s heart break. Lyric’s curled up in a ball by the window, shoulders shaking with terror and sobs so pronounced that such a tiny body shouldn’t be able to make them. Dean and Cas rush through the flames to her side and Dean scoops her up, cradling her close.

“Where’s your mom, Lyric?” Dean shouts over the roar of the flames, and Lyric points a trembling finger towards her closet. A quick glance shows that it’s the source of the flames. Dean can picture the scene perfectly, now: Lyric, insisting there was something in her closet. Jayne, ever the patient and kindhearted mother, walking into the closet to prove that Lyric’s fears were in vain. And then the horrible moment where Lyric’s every nightmare came true – a poltergeist, most likely, bursting forth to smother her mother in flames. Cas rushes for the closet even though they both know there’s no use. Dean grabs Cas’ arm to shake him out of it and they flee the room just as more flames burst forth, engulfing all that remains.

They burst through the front door just as a fire truck is pulling up. A small crowd has gathered around the steadily building fire and Dean realizes that the hunt isn’t technically done, that the house is still haunted and more people could get hurt. In this moment, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything else but the small and trembling human being in his arms. One of the firefighters approaches them, asks if they need an ambulance, if there’s anyone else inside, but Dean can’t speak. He listens numbly as Cas explains that no, they’ll drive Lyric to the hospital and no, there is no one left alive inside, as though he’s not a part of the scene at all.

Dean passes Lyric to Cas when he climbs into the driver’s seat, still unable to do much but move on autopilot, listening to Cas’ directions like an obedient child. Lyric’s arms are wrapped tight around Cas’ neck and Cas is rubbing circles in her back, whispering things to her. Dean doesn’t know what Cas is saying, thinks it might be Enochian, can’t get a grip enough to try and figure it out. He follows the road and thinks of the necklace in the box at Cas’ feet.

He cries.

*

Lyric’s pediatrician declares her free of smoke inhalation or burns and releases her into Dean and Cas’ care. It’s surprisingly easy to convince anyone official that might ask that Lyric is their niece, and that they have custody; the words “house fire” seem to have some sort of magical effect to them, endearing the listener to the speaker immediately. Dean’s grateful for it. He doesn’t have the energy now to put into lying convincingly.

They go home, back to Dean and Cas’ flat, with Dean carrying Lyric and Cas carrying in her big teddy bear from the backseat. Cas plugs in the tree and lights candles even though it’s not quite evening yet when they arrive, and Dean settles into the couch, holding Lyric. Cas joins them and envelops them both in his arms, and he feels as strong and safe as Dean _needs_ right now, as Lyric surely needs. She hasn’t spoken once since they saved her.

The three of them stay like this for a long while, until finally Lyric speaks, almost inaudibly.

“Monster got Mama,” she whimpers, tiny tears escaping her eyes and slipping down her cheeks. Dean and Cas exchange a look – because this is way out of their realm of ability. They’re babysitters, not fathers. They don’t know how to talk about big things like death and monsters being real. It’s not in their job description. Cas looks even more at a loss than Dean feels, though, and Dean figures it’s about time he tried to force the gears in his brain to work again.

“Yeah, Lee, there was a monster,” Dean tells her quietly, stroking her hair, and winces as she bristles at what is probably the first adult acknowledgment of monsters in her life. “He was mean and scary and he… hurt her. But you’re safe now, me and Cas have got you. This won’t ever happen again.”

Lyric breathes in a shaky little sigh, new tears bubbling up and spilling over.

“Mama said – she said there was no such thing as… she said monsters weren’t _real_ ,” Lyric insists brokenly, small features torn with the stress of a child struggling to understand what not even adults should have to know.

“She thought they weren’t real, Lee. She didn’t know. Most grownups think it’s pretend. A lot of it _is_ pretend. They don’t know what me and Cas know.”

“And me,” Lyric adds unhappily, shoulders sagging. Dean sighs, wiping stray tears from her face.

“And you,” he echoes hollowly. “I’m sorry, Lyric.”

Cas shifts and presses a kiss to her hair before reaching past them for the remote control on the table. He clicks on the TV and swiftly channel surfs to the nearest station playing holiday movies. Dean sighs in relief that it’s something familiar, something they’ve seen a million times. If he’d been asked earlier that day, he’d probably have said that Rudolph was trying his last nerve… but now, he couldn’t describe his gratitude of hearing the fictional reindeer’s stuffy voice.

Cas slips out of the room to the kitchen, and Dean hears him talking on the phone, probably with Sam. Then there are cabinets opening and the tick of the stove as it turns on. Dean hopes Cas isn’t making food; he couldn’t stomach it. He can’t think about much past the little girl in his arms without feeling a dull ache settling in his chest so wide it threatens to swallow him up. The ache throbs every time he thinks of long, dark brown hair and tired mother’s eyes. He knows he’s not supposed to blame himself, knows that sometimes these things just _happen_ , but he can’t help but think of how different things would have been if they’d shown up just five minutes earlier.

Cas returns with three mugs of hot chocolate, looking tired with red eyes and a seemingly permanent slump to his shoulders. He places the three mugs on the coffee table, sighing heavily as he sits beside them and gives Lyric a long look, brows knit together in concern. Only then does Dean realize that Lyric has fallen asleep.

“I spoke with Sam,” Cas tells Dean quietly, throat sounding more hoarse than Dean expected. “He and Sarah think we should bring Lyric and go to Bobby’s as planned.”

Dean breathes in deep and nods.

“Kid sure deserves the closest thing to Christmas as we can give her,” he agrees, just as quiet. “Maybe a plane ride and a new setting will distract her.”

Cas reaches forward and gently touches Dean’s face. Dean instinctively leans into the touch, closing his eyes. The sturdy reassurance of Cas’ hand is so welcome that Dean wishes he could just lose himself in it. For a moment, he’s able to forget the weighty realities that are trying to crush him.

“The two of us as well, Dean,” Cas adds. “I think we all could use a distraction.”

Dean doesn’t say anything or open his eyes, just quietly tries to take all the comfort he can out of Cas’ simple touch. He decides that they can get through this – and more importantly, they can get Lyric through this. Starting with Christmas.

“Sam is searching online for another ticket on our flight. He’s going to email us the itinerary,” Cas says after a moment. “It’s nearly five, we should go if we’re going to make it to the airport in time.”

They pack a small bag of extra t-shirts and sweaters for Lyric to wear until they can make it to a store to buy her clothes. It remains to be seen whether any of her things survived the fire, but Dean’s in no hurry to find out. Hell, he’d be fine if they _never_ found out, never went back to that house or that street again. It’s hard enough trying not to think about _her_ – Dean can’t bring himself to think her name – without being assaulted with reminders of her.

Lyric sleeps the whole ride to the airport, curled up in Cas’ lap with a thumb in her mouth.

*

The only upside to losing a loved one is that airplanes seem like much less of a big deal. Dean takes pain killers and sleeps through the four and a half hour flight, oblivious to any turbulence. He wakes only when Cas and Lyric shake him gently, alerting him that the plane has landed. Around them, people are standing and gathering their things. Cas carries Lyric out and Dean grabs their suitcases. They packed light enough to avoid the hassle of the baggage claim, and are able to go straight from the gate to the pick-up point

Sam pulls up just as they make it outside, and he looks so tense and worried that for a brief, absurd moment, Dean wants to comfort _him_. Big brother instincts die hard, Dean guesses. Sam bounds out of the car and wraps Dean in a big hug the first second he can, putting his whole being into comforting Dean. It’s just like Sam to _get_ it, that quickly, to understand that Jayne wasn’t just some civilian or just the mother of Dean’s favorite little girl. She was family, and Sam understands. He’s got hugs for Cas and Lyric, too, and they all pile into one of Bobby’s spare junker cars and head for Singer Salvage. It’s strange to see Lyric, usually so bright and talkative, looking so defeated and silent.

 The trip from the airport to Singer Salvage is a short one, though it may seem especially so because it’s dark and Dean’s not paying attention to the time or distance passing. To his surprise, instead of pulling up to the house, Sam drives into the junkyard. The junkyard is nothing but a dark mass of spare parts that tower everywhere, and it would be impossible to see anything if not for the headlights on the car. Beside him, Lyric draws herself closer, clearly frightened, as Sam parks the car. Dean’s about to be annoyed with Sam for scaring the poor kid when, suddenly, the whole place is engulfed in light.

Christmas lights hang from every looming pile of scrap, effectively turning Singer Salvage into a winter wonderland. Dean realizes for the first time that there’s a faint dusting of snow everywhere, too – nothing major, but combined with the beautiful, unexpected surprise of the lights, it looks almost magical. Lyric’s mouth is wide open and she’s smiling for the first time tonight. Cas’ eyes are lit up like he wants to smile, too, and Dean’s surprised when he realizes he himself is grinning. It looks beautiful, and is clearly a labor of several hours’ time. Sam, Sarah and Bobby were probably working on this since the moment they got the awful news.

“Am I at the North Pole?” Lyric asks, eyes wide as saucers. Dean laughs.

“I don’t know, kid,” Dean says, giving her a squeeze. “Might be. We probably won’t see Santa, though, he’s kinda busy this time of year –”

“Hey, sounds like you could use a little faith, Dean,” Sam says with a wink as he gets out of the car, opening the door for Lyric. Lyric hops out excitedly and pins Sam with her wide eyes.

“Is Santa here?” she asks him, and he scoops her up and smiles at her.

“I don’t know, let’s go see,” Sam says conspiringly. He carries her toward Bobby’s house and Dean and Cas follow. The house, too, is lit up, and Dean thinks they must have enlisted help from half the neighborhood to get this much done. When Dean finally sees what Sam is alluding to, though, he can’t help but burst into laughter.

Bobby’s sitting in a big, high-backed chair that’s been decorated with garland, lights and ribbons. This in itself would be funny, but Bobby looks so ridiculous that Dean doesn’t even notice the chair. Instead, what has him laughing sooner than he ever hoped he’d be able to laugh again is Bobby’s _outfit_. He’s dressed like Santa Claus from head to toe, red suit and white beard and all. The beard is fantastic and effectively hides most of his face; Dean almost didn’t recognize him, and Lyric surely won’t.

“Santa!” she screeches excitedly, squirming in Sam’s arms. He lets her down and she races to Bobby, planting herself in his lap.

“Ho ho ho,” Bobby says, and sounds pretty damn convincing at that. “Hello, little girl.”

“Santa – wow, Santa, um. Hi! I’m Lyric.” The rush of happiness Dean feels at seeing such lightness and innocence on Lyric’s face after such a horrific day is overwhelming. He could kiss them for this, all of them.

“I know who you are,” Bobby says warmly, still careful to disguise his voice so that Lyric won’t recognize it later, when he’s not in costume. “Of course I’d know the name of the nicest little girl on the whole nice list.”

Lyric sucks in a huge breath at this, like it’s more news than she can possibly take in.

“Me?”

“Yep, you’re it. So what do you want for Christmas, li’l one?”

Lyric’s expression sags just the slightest at that question.

“I mostly just want my mama,” she tells him, staring at her hands. “But I know that you don’t know how to do that. I’m real glad I’m with Dean and Cassy-ell, though, ‘cause they’ll keep me safe. That was a really good Christmas surprise. Thanks, Santa.”

Bobby looks at a loss for a moment, and Dean feels bad for the guy. Playing Santa to a girl who’s just lost her mom is kind of a tall order. Bobby takes it in stride, though, and pats her on the shoulder and smiles.

“No problem, kiddo. But how ‘bout something in the present department? Ain’t there anything you want wrapped up under the tree?”

Dean’s pretty sure Lyric could ask for an elephant and he’d find a way to get it for her. The moon, the stars, anything she wanted. She looks pensive for a moment, and it breaks Dean’s heart that they’ve got a five-year-old on their hands who can’t even remember what she wants for Christmas.

“Maybe a pirate,” she says finally. “Or a dinosaur.”

Bobby nods thoughtfully, and Dean takes note of both.

“I’ll see what we can get ya, kiddo. Just make sure you sleep well tonight, y’hear?”

Lyric nods dutifully. She’s about to hop off his lap when something seems to occur to her and she leans forward and whispers something to him that Dean can’t hear. She doesn’t wait for a response, just darts over to Dean and raises her arms for him to pick her up. He does so and she tucks her face into his neck, yawning. It’s been a tiring day, and Dean thinks it’s about time she got some rest.

*

Dean and Cas lay with Lyric until she’s fast asleep, and only dare to leave the guest bedroom she’s sleeping in once she’s been out for a solid 20 minutes. Dean has no idea what time it is, only that it’s very late and he hasn’t the slightest clue how he’s going to find a store that’s open at this time on Christmas Eve. He’ll drive for hours if he has to, though; there’s no way Lyric’s waking up on Christmas morning without toys. Especially not after all this.

Thankfully, he and Cas bump into Sam and Sarah on their way to the next bedroom, and they’re both carrying armfuls of presents.

“You guys get some rest, okay?” Sarah tells him gently. “We made sure Lyric’s got plenty of presents – including a pirate doll and a robot dinosaur toy. We figured you’d be tired by now…”

Dean can’t help but hug her.

“Thanks guys,” he says, annoyed at the treasonous lump in his throat. “For everything. She… _we_ needed this.”

Sarah smiles.

“That’s what family’s for, Dean,” she says, patting him on the shoulder. “Now get some sleep. Lyric will be up before you know it.”

They all exchange goodnights and head to their separate destinations. Lyric’s currently in the room Dean and Cas were originally going to share, but it was decided that after such a trying day that some privacy for the two of them was in order and Sam and Sarah offered to share an air mattress in the living room to free up the other guest bedroom. Dean figures tomorrow they’ll share a room with Lyric, but for now he’s grateful for the chance to be alone with Cas.

As soon as the door is closed behind him, Cas is on him, mouth connecting with Dean’s as his hands travel beneath Dean’s shirt to rest on his hips. He rubs circles into Dean’s hips before dipping his thumbs below the waistband of his jeans, bringing his lips to Dean’s ear.

“Let me make it better,” he whispers, making Dean shudder. It’s an offer Cas can’t entirely fill, and both of them know it, but _better_ is relative and Cas can make him feel good for a brief respite between awful pangs of overwhelming feeling. Dean nods and Cas tugs Dean’s shirt over his head and then casts it aside before falling to his knees, fingers unbuttoning Dean’s jeans and pulling them down over his hips.

Dean leans his head back against the door and lets himself get lost in the sensation of Cas’ mouth swallowing him up, taking him far from this screwed up situation. He hooks a leg over Cas’ shoulder and pumps his hips in a slow rhythm, earning appreciative groans from Cas, blissed out as Dean fucks his stretched-out mouth, spit pooling at his lips. Dean’s orgasm is explosive and overwhelming and spreads this his body in warm waves as he comes down Cas’ throat.

Once he’s composed himself, he leads Cas to the bed and strips him of his layers one by one, feeling him up as he goes, palming his crotch roughly and making him moan Dean’s name brokenly in between pleas and whimpers. Dean lays Cas out on the bed with his feet hanging over the edge, legs spread wide, and falls to his knees between them. He grips the base of Cas’ dick and returns the favor, pulling him as deep down his throat as he can manage, eager to make this all _better_ with his body, to ease Cas’ grief and uncertainty because that’s what they _do_ for each other.

Cas comes with a shout, smoothing a hand over Dean’s hair repeatedly, fingers flexing like he wants to pull but doesn’t want to, given the circumstances. Dean swallows as much as he can, eyes shut tight and mouth wide. Once Cas’ body has shuddered to completion, Dean kisses his way back up to Cas’ mouth, covering every inch of Cas’ skin. He mouths at the inside of Cas’ thighs, his hips, his stomach, tongue dipping into his navel before traveling up. They kiss gently, holding each other tightly, clinging as hard as they can as though pressure and closeness can make everything okay again.

By the time Dean falls asleep, everything’s still not okay – but it’s better than it was, just as Cas promised. And in this late and hazy moment, it’s more than enough.

*

Dean gets maybe three hours of sleep before he hears his door opening and Lyric softly calling their names. He quickly grabs at the sheets because _holy shit, five-year-old in his room and he’s completely naked._ She’s staring expectantly at him, bouncing eagerly from foot to foot.

“Dean, Cassy-ell, it’s _Christmas_! Maybe Santa came?

“He sure as hell did, Lyric. The tree’s downstairs, why don’t you run down? Me and Cas will join you in a minute.”

Lyric nods excitedly and skips off. Dean breathes a sigh of relief and slumps into the mattress beside Cas, who’s stretching and yawning. There’s a brief moment where Dean’s not thinking of Jayne, just thinking about the way the early vestiges of morning light dances across Cas’ face and the excited look in Lyric’s eyes before she bounded off. Jayne seeps back into his consciousness in tiny ripples and he tries to ignore it and just _enjoy the day, goddammit_. Cas catches Dean watching him and he smiles softly, and Dean thinks maybe he might be able to.

Once they’re decent, clothed with come scraped off incriminating areas, they shuffle downstairs, where Lyric has pulled all her presents into a small pile. It’s a pretty sizable pile and Dean makes a note to pay Sam back for it later. Already, Lyric feels like she somehow belong to himself and Cas. She hasn’t opened anything yet, and she’s sitting before the pile, practically vibrating with anticipation.

“I was waiting for you!” she declares enthusiastically once they join her in the living room.

“Well, we’re here. Go for it, kiddo,” Dean says, and Lyric tears into the first present. Cas sits cross-legged beside her, collecting wrapping paper as she goes, and Dean wanders into the kitchen to make coffee because it is goddamn early and he’s still exhausted from the day before. The machine hums familiarly and it’s comforting. There’s a small part of him that wants to make it Irish coffee and drink away all these awful feelings nagging at him, but… there’s a little girl and a fallen angel in the other room who are counting on him to be strong, and he can’t do it. He’s going to take this a day at a time and live in the moment, because it’s all he can do.

He’s surprised to find Cas behind him when he turns around – Cas still has his superhuman ability to sneak up on people, particularly Dean – and he breaks into a smile when he sees that Cas is holding mistletoe. He crosses the room and holds it over their heads and kisses Dean, one hand one the back of his neck. Dean all but melts into the kiss, happy at how familiar and nostalgic it feels to kiss under the mistletoe. They lean into each other and kiss and kiss, smiling stupidly at each other before finally breaking away. Cas’ face takes on a more serious expression after that, and Dean swallows because he knows it’s the face Cas uses when they’re about to discuss important things.

“What are we going to do about Lyric, Dean?” Cas asks quietly, glancing over his shoulder as though he’s afraid Lyric will wander in at any moment. Which, yeah, not exactly the most unfounded fear in the world. Cas’ arms are draped around Dean’s neck and he’s holding him at arm’s length, looking at him thoughtfully. Dean tries to process the question.

“What do you mean?” he asks, when his brain has decided that it’s going to take a rain-check.

“Lyric, Dean. She has no other family. We’re all she has.” There’s a heavy weight behind Cas’ words, implications and a loaded question and Dean swallows because this is it, this is the moment his life changes irrevocably forever. He searches Cas’ eyes, taking a moment to admire the fascinating blue of them while he tries to collect himself, and finally Dean shuts his eyes and breathes in deep. He opens his eyes when he lets out the breath.

“I want to keep her,” Dean says finally, voice quavering because he’s said it, he’s made the biggest commitment of his life and he’s terrified.

Cas’ mouth falls open just the slightest bit, but to his credit he composes himself quickly enough. He nods in agreement and something twists in Dean’s chest that he can’t name.

“So do I,” Cas says, and his words are more strong and firm than Dean feels and Dean takes comfort in it. Cas never does anything halfway, not learning to cook or rebelling against heaven or falling in love – and he’s showing that same sense of purpose and resolution right now. Dean wants to reflect it, and knows that in time he will.

“Everything’s gonna change, huh?” Dean asks, letting his worry slip through in his voice and his facial expression.

“Yes,” Cas replies. “For the better, perhaps. I think we may need Lyric as much as she needs us.”  

Dean thinks this makes sense. For so long, Dean and Cas have been on the precipice of _something_ , so close to some new and uncharted chapter of their lives, but something in Dean has always held them back. Now, he has no choice to delve into unfamiliar territory. It’s time, though. Dean knows it’s time. He doesn’t know what to say, though, so he takes the mistletoe from Cas and dangles it over them again, earning a small smile from Cas. They kiss again, leaning into each other and teetering slightly on their feet, until a tiny voice interrupts them.

“Eww!” Lyric exclaims. Dean and Cas break the kiss and look up in unison to find Lyric hovering in the doorway, clutching an armful of toys. Her face is scrunched up in childish disgust, and Dean has to laugh.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Dean says. “Cas is super hot so sometimes I haveta kiss him. Might have to get used to it since you’re going to be living with us now.”

Cas goes slightly pink at this and shoves Dean halfheartedly. Lyric, however, has a wide grin lighting up her face and her grip on her toys seems dangerously close to giving way.

“I’m gonna live with you now?” she squeals, and rushes at them to hug them. They both scoop her up and hold her close between them, and Dean decides right then and there to throw all hesitancy out the window. This is his family now – his boyfriend and his makeshift daughter clinging to each other in a kitchen in the early hours of the morning. It’s broken in the way that most things in Dean’s life are broken, but it’s… good. Solid. A foundation that can be built on, and Dean’s ready to start construction. He’s tired of being afraid and running from feelings and commitment. He’s finally ready to grow up.

“Yes you are, Lyric. We’re going to adopt you.”

Dean can see the Christmas tree in the other room out of the corner of his eye, and he feels a rush of gratitude – because all of this started with a tree. If Cas hadn’t asked for it, if Dean hadn’t caved… who knows where they’d be right now? Dean could never love another day of the year so much. Suddenly, something dawns on him and he grins.

“Hey, Cas,” he says, waggling an eyebrow.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas responds, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

“Happy anniversary.”

Cas’ eyes go wide and a smile plays at the edges of his lips.

“A whole year,” he says, incredulous, blue eyes staring deep into green, alive with a flurry of emotion.

“Here’s to many more,” Dean says – and again, it’s a commitment. The words are big and heavy in his mouth, but there’s no piece of him that regrets it.

“A lifetime,” Dean adds, because he wants to make _sure_ Cas understands the magnitude of what he’s saying. And maybe it’s not a marriage proposal and maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s a start. Dean may never get on one knee and pop the question, but this much he can do. This much he can promise.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Cas says, voice falling to an awed whisper that leaves Dean’s heart doing backflips.

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” he echoes, and he thinks they might be three of his favorite words.

“Merry Christmas, everybody!” Lyric squeals excitedly, throwing her arms around Dean and Cas’ necks. In this moment, there is no place in the world that Dean would rather be.

And to think, it all started with a tree.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Not enough? I thought it might not be. Check back on New Year's for the epilogue. 
> 
> Merry Christmas, everyone!


End file.
